


Because You Must

by ProxyOne



Series: Spinning In Daffodils [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal deals with his emotions about as well as you'd expect, M/M, Mixed POV, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, parallel fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProxyOne/pseuds/ProxyOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chiyoh manages to save Hannibal after he and Will fall from the cliff, but they learn quickly that Will has been declared dead.  That's not enough for Hannibal, though.</p><p>Runs concurrent with the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6825118/chapters/15580429">All These Fictionary Tales</a> - both fics are designed to be read together, though nothing is lost by reading only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is half completed, and will likely be updated once a week, but we'll see how that works out. It may be more frequent.

The night was cool and quiet, the moon clear and bright and shining down to illuminate the rough sea. Chiyoh couldn't relax, however. From the moment she had first caught wind of the plan to transfer Hannibal – before the media, thankfully – she had been tracking him, tracking Will, and now here she was, bobbing in a boat she had only had the bare minimum amount of time to get seaworthy. She had correctly guessed which of Hannibal's remaining safe houses he would flee to, and now she harboured few doubts as to how things would play out.

The only thing that remained to be seen was whether she would be picking up one passenger, or two.

She raised the binoculars to her eyes again, straining to see the dark cliff top above. Her last sighting of either Will or Hannibal had been when they first arrived at the house. Boat hidden around the corner as it was, Will hadn't seen it, but she was certain that Hannibal had looked directly at where she had settled herself. He knew she was there, waiting. Once they had retreated to the house itself she had returned to the boat, bringing it around to wait, the dinghy ready and waiting to pick them up once they made their way down the path to the small inlet at the base of the cliff.

There had been very little sound from the house on the cliff; the distance, and the roaring of the sea around her made it impossible to hear much. A short while earlier she had heard something that sounded like shattering glass, but it could just as easily have been a trick of the sounds around her. There was no mistaking the howl of pain that drifted down now though, as thin and reedy as the distance made it. It wasn't Hannibal, that she was sure of. It didn't sound like Will, which meant it must have been this Dragon they had attempted to lure. Had succeeded in luring, it seemed.

Chiyoh wasn't worried about Hannibal, not as such, but she was worried about what she – what _they_ were going to do once he had finished removing his final obstacle. She wondered if he had considered the fact that Will himself might prove to the real obstacle to his escape.

She had to admit to herself that it had been hard, watching him turn himself in like that, those three years previous. Hannibal Lecter, who had always been so strong, so in control, suddenly being so, so … so weak, so utterly _foolish_. Giving up his freedom at the very least, and risking his life at the worst, and for what? For Will Graham, who didn't even know what he wanted. Will Graham, who had left him to rot for three years, had married and moved away and as far as anyone knew, had entirely forgotten Hannibal. Surely Hannibal had to see what a mistake that was? And yet here they both were, circling each other once more as though those three years had never happened. Chiyoh could barely understand it, though she had to admit that her own connection to Hannibal hadn't exactly been irreparably damaged by their own prolonged separation.

Whatever their attraction to one another was, it seemed it would take more than incarceration and marriage to sever it.

She was just about to lower the binoculars when a faint movement caught her attention. Adjusting her grip, she watched as Hannibal leaned over to offer a hand to Will. They were both stooped over, clearly injured, but both alive. Their silhouettes blurred together in a sort of embrace, and Chiyoh had to fight the urge to avert her eyes. Even from this distance, it was a singularly intimate moment between them.

It looked like there would be two new passengers, after all.

She gathered herself to prepare the dinghy, taking one last look at them before she got ready. She estimated it would take them upwards of half an hour to make their way down, especially given their wounded states, and in her judgement it would be best to meet them part way down with the emergency first aid kit. She was just about to lower her binoculars when their shapes moved, drawing closer together then twisting. She watched in something akin to horror as the two bodies plummeted together, still holding one another so closely that they could almost be one, down towards the jagged rocks below. The splash of their landing was, for the entirety of the fall, the only sound they made.

Chiyoh immediately sprang into action, dropping the binoculars and releasing the dinghy. The outboard motor was quickly started and she raced the tiny boat towards the area she had seen the splash, feeling strangely calm as she made her way to them. With the way the waves were crashing against the rocks, she knew that she only had a small window where she would have even the slightest chance of finding them. The boat bounced over the waves, the spray of saltwater soaking her in moments. The little vessel was not designed to be raced through rough water, but there was little choice.

As she drew nearer, Chiyoh began scanning the choppy surface of the water more closely, looking for any sign of either of the men. She cursed the rough conditions, the darkness, the way what little light there was from the moon distorted every shadow cast by the churning waves. On multiple occasions she turned the dinghy, only to find that what she thought was a body was nothing more than an illusion. Each second that passed without finding a trace of them ratcheted her tension up, until she found herself screaming out Hannibal's name, in a bid to try something, _anything_ else to find them.

Alarm turned to worry, became outright fear with each tick of her internal clock, with each sweep of her eyes across empty sea. A shadow appeared in her line of sight, then disappeared behind a wave, but this time when the wave retreated, the shadow remained. She turned the boat and headed for the bobbing body, unsure and uncaring which one it was. If one was there, then the other couldn't be far away. The boat approached the body and she cut the motor, afraid that the swells would turn the dinghy and set the blades to the helpless shape before her. Whoever it was was face down, slack in the water, and she grabbed handfuls of cloth and _hauled._ The body, a waterlogged dead weight, flopped over the side, landing face up in a tangled heap on the ground.

“Hannibal!” she all but yelled at him, his chest not moving and his face blue; from cold, or lack of oxygen, she couldn't tell. She hurriedly stretched him out, lying him as flat as she could manage in the tiny space, the dinghy rocking with the swells. She _should_ take the boat out of the choppiness, back to calmer waters, but there was no time for that. She quickly checked Hannibal's pulse, relieved to feel a fluttery but noticeable beat. Turning his head, she watched in alarm at the amount of water that flowed from his open mouth. She took a breath to steady herself, straightened Hannibal back out, then pinched his nose. She sealed her own lips over his, noting with more than a little concern the freezing temperature of his skin. She breathed in once, twice, three times, and on the fourth there was a spluttering cough from Hannibal, his entire body jerking as it expelled the water.

The boat was hit by a large wave then, nearly knocking them over. Chiyoh braced herself, caging Hannibal in with her limbs until the boat settled. Carefully she moved him, getting him in as close an approximation of the recovery position as she was able to. Still he coughed, but he was also taking great, heaving breaths in. His eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused.

“Will...” he wheezed, before his eyes closed again and he grew silent, his chest still working hard to replace the oxygen it had been so deprived of.

His weak voice, only capable of uttering one word, still gave Chiyoh a small amount of confidence. She wedged his legs beneath the bench seat, hoping it would keep him still as she tried to look for Will. Despite the chill leaching all feeling from her fingers, she restarted the outboard with deftness, swinging the boat around to search for Will. While her own attachment to Will was barely worth mentioning, she knew Hannibal would be unpredictable, to say the least, if he were to wake up to find that Will had disappeared. Even a dead body beside him would be better than nothing. It would not be worth saving him, if he were to do something profoundly stupid in return.

Desperately she turned the boat back and forth, searching for any sign. The two of them were so entwined that she found it hard to believe he could have been far from where she found Hannibal, but the sea was an unforgiving mistress. If she wanted Will, then Chiyoh would have little chance of coaxing him back from her.

She glanced down at Hannibal, and the purple-blue of his face made her decision for her. With one last, despairing gaze across the waves, she turned the dinghy and made her way back to the yacht.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today ♥ Couple more chapters after this of purely Chiyoh POV, then it will start switching up between the two of them.

Once on the yacht Chiyoh found her job physically easier, though no less fraught. Hannibal had remained unconscious for some hours after she had managed to haul him on board, a task that had taken her a number of tries before she was successful. She bundled him up, keeping him as warm as she could in the confines of the yacht's tiny interior. It hadn't seemed that small, when she had pictured the three of them whole and healthy, but now that she had one bleeding, borderline hypothermic man to take care of, it suddenly seemed woefully inadequate. She did what she could to keep him warm and secure, cleaning out and then stitching up what appeared to be a through and through gunshot wound in his torso as best she could, before climbing back up to sail them somewhere safer. She had no doubt that the news of his escape would be made public very soon, if it wasn't already, and she needed to get them as far away as possible.

She sailed for hours, coursing through the night, ducking below deck from time to time to check on Hannibal. He remained unconscious, his face pale from blood loss. Chiyoh, however, was pleased to note that despite his pallor, the frigid blue from the cold had dissipated; that was one less thing for her to have to worry about. His breathing, though laboured, was nothing worse than she expected given the nature of his injuries, but she also knew that given the amount of water he'd coughed out of his lungs, there was the very real possibility of other problems – secondary drowning, pneumonia, infection. She only hoped that he would regain consciousness soon, and be able to advise her on what to do in any of those events. She knew enough first aid to keep him patched up for now, but something like that was well outside her abilities to manage.

She finally stopped two hours after dawn, anchoring the yacht in a secluded bay. She'd kept the radio on all night, listening out for word of what had happened on the cliff, but to her surprise and relief, nothing had been reported. It gave them at least a little more wriggle room.

Boat safely anchored, she headed back downstairs to check on Hannibal. His breathing had cleared up significantly, though his face remained worryingly pale. She felt his forehead, pulled out the thermometer to check his temperature. As it beeped in his ear, his eyes fluttered open.

“Will,” he whispered hoarsely, tongue poking out slowly to lick ineffectually at his dried lips. Chiyoh leaned away, grabbed a cup of water she had set on the table, and held it to Hannibal's lips. She thought idly about stopping somewhere to get straws, but decided by the time she had the chance, he'd be passed needing them. He'd have to deal with sipping from a cup while she held it. She had no doubt he'd dealt with worse in his life.

More water than she would have liked dripped down his chin and onto the blankets, but it seemed to help his dry mouth. She'd have to get more water into him over the next few hours, of that there was no question. Strange, given how much effort she'd expended on getting the water _out._

He lowered his head back down from the mere millimetres that he'd lifted it, his energy clearly expended. Not enough, though, to stop him from asking again.

“Will?”

His voice was still painfully hoarse, and Chiyoh's stomach clenched. She had no idea what to tell him. She had no idea if Will had managed to make it to shore and escape, if he'd been rescued by the people hunting him, if he'd been dragged out to sea...

“Sleep,” she whispered gently, stroking her hand across his forehead. It was enough to send him off into sleep, real sleep this time, and she spent a few minutes more giving his wounds a cursory exam in the dim daylight. They looked no worse – no better, but no worse – and so she headed back up to the weak, wintery sunlight, and switched the radio back on. She hoped she'd have something to tell Hannibal by the time he woke back up.

/--/

There was an hour of worrying – about Hannibal, about herself, about what Hannibal would do when he found out Will hadn't come with them – before there was any news over the radio. The first reports were brief; little more than breaking news headlines, all sensation and no information.

“ _Infamous socialite turned prolific serial killer, Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter, has escaped.”_

“ _...two bodies found, further news as it comes to hand...”_

“ _...slaughter on the cliff top...”_

Chiyoh pulled out the tablet she had stashed away, switching it on briefly to see if the various news websites had anything further. A quick scan showed the initial report of two bodies found was too hasty – confirmation of one body found, two missing, plus an unconfirmed number of police officers and FBI agents killed at an undisclosed location. She remained glued to the screen, an ear open for both Hannibal, and the sounds of the radio in case something different was reported.

A half hour later, Chiyoh keeping an increasingly concerned eye on the battery level of the tablet, a new headline flashed up:

“ _FBI consultant Will Graham found alive, rushed to hospital in a critical condition.”_

It was something, at least, s _omething_ she could tell Hannibal. She only hoped the critical condition Will was reported as being in was an exaggeration.

She stood, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion. This was not exactly how she had planned to help Hannibal make his escape. She switched off the tablet and radio, making her way back down to the yacht's bedroom where she checked on Hannibal again. His pulse was strong, if a little quick, his wound still not showing immediate signs of infection. The salt water plunge had been good for _something_ then, at least. While the wound looked ugly, it had also clearly missed anything vital. This Dragon was either a very, very good, or very, very bad shot. She sent a vague thank you into the ether regardless. Carefully she dribbled a few more drops of water over Hannibal's lips, pleased when he grunted a little in his sleep and greedily licked at the drops as they fell. One more check of his temperature had her if not happy, then at least slightly less concerned about him. Enough to lie down and rest herself, anyway. She climbed under the blankets, wrapping her arms around him in a bid to contain the heat she had so steadily tried to pour into him, and closed her eyes.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chiyoh awoke a few hours later to find Hannibal burning up. She snapped to full alertness in a matter of seconds, throwing the blankets back to examine the bullet wound. It still seemed fine – there was no redness that she could find, either front or back. She pressed a hand to Hannibal's forehead, and then noticed how dry his skin was, his lips visibly dried and cracked. She mentally kicked herself and leapt out of the bed to grab the water, soaking a cloth in it then pressing it to his lips. Hannibal unconsciously sucked at the cloth, draining it of the excess water, so she gently removed it from his lips, re-soaking it and returning it for him to drink from. It seemed to help, his lips beginning to lose their chapped look after a few more repetitions. She ran the cloth over his head, dampening his skin. His body cooled slowly, and she vowed not to let her own exhaustion get in the way of seeing Hannibal through this dangerous stage of his recovery.

It seemed an endless see-sawing of symptoms and injuries – too much water, then not enough. Too cold, too hot. Trying to regain some sort of equilibrium was going to take work, since it seemed his body was not capable of doing it itself.

She darted back up to check on the news reports, desperate now for some indication of what was going on so she could make plans. If Will was alive, Chiyoh had little doubt Hannibal would try to get him back. If he wasn't … it would be in their interests to leave as quickly as possible, lest Hannibal be tempted to join him in some misguided revenge quest.

She wondered if he might do it, anyway, even if he _were_ alive. Turning himself in hadn't worked. Maybe he would think that a blood display, some sort of romantic death mission would show Will what he was missing. She smiled, despite herself. Hannibal, for all his claims and practice of discipline and disinterest, had always had a streak of overly romantic fool at his core. She just never thought he would willingly relinquish his control of that particular beast.

The rest of the day past in a blur of dressing checks, drip feeding Hannibal out of his dehydration, and listening in vain for more news about Will. The periodic 'updates' provided by virtually every media source were just rehashes of the same information that had been released in those first few hours. The sun gradually sank below the horizon, leaving Chiyoh with the choice of lighting up the deck, and thereby making themselves obvious for anyone looking, or retreating below and hoping that she could see Hannibal through the night by herself.

She chose the latter.

/--/

Morning came slowly, then all at once. Chiyoh, her eyes gritty and dry from her extended lack of sleep, stretched herself out of the doze she had fallen into. She checked Hannibal over again, almost on autopilot, then stood to change. She squeezed into the tiny bathroom, splashing water on her face in a bid to wake herself. She was pleased with Hannibal's progress, though, his heart rate slowing to a more normal, strong pace, his mouth and lips no longer dry and cracked, so the long night had been worth it. She knew, though, that he was going to need more than what the little first aid kit could provide. There were no signs of infection yet, but she still wanted a good supply of antibiotics just in case, and the over the counter painkillers weren't going to cut it when he regained full consciousness.

She patted her face dry, discarding the clothes she had been wearing in the corner, in favour of a nondescript pair of jeans and a sweater. She was suddenly very relieved she had thought to put in clothes like this for herself. It would make her stand out less than her usual black fitted coat and pants. Reaching a decision, she hauled out the charts and maps, working out exactly where she was, and exactly where she had to go to get what she needed.

Plans made and required supplies gathered, she scribbled a hurried note and taped it to the wall beside Hannibal's head. If he woke, he would be sure to see it. She grabbed her bag, and left the boat. She hoped she wouldn't be gone too long.

/--/

It took Chiyoh a few hours to make her way into the town, at least part of which was a direct result of her needing to walk, then hitch a ride. The advantage to having found an anchor point that was so isolated was that there were no people, which, unfortunately, was also the major _disadvantage_ when she needed to actually find said people to get supplies.

The truck driver who picked her up looked like the poster boy for people you should not get in a car with, but he was surprisingly pleasant. He offered her a drink, and didn't take offence when she declined. He pointed out various items of interest – of interest to him, that was, though Chiyoh feigned enough of a returning interest to keep him happy – and aside from that he seemed glad enough for the company, without the need for excessive chatter. Once they reached the town, he wished her luck as she clambered back down out of the cab. She was left pleasantly surprised that there were still kind people in the world, though she had to admit her own life's frame of reference was perhaps more than a little skewed.

It didn't take her long to get her bearings, and it was only a few minutes more until she was walking into the pharmacy, faked prescription in hand. She had no idea if what she was getting was enough, but she had not wasted her three years away from Hannibal, and she knew the drugs she was acquiring would at the very least tide them over until Hannibal was able to resupply them more fully. While her outward calm was maintained, inwardly Chiyoh worried that this wasn't going to work, that her forged prescription was going to be recognised as a fake immediately, that someone would somehow just _know_ that she was helping Hannibal Lecter escape. The latter she attempted to dismiss as nothing but her overwrought nerves playing havoc, but it didn't help to stop the disquieting feeling that she was being watched, no matter how impossible she knew it to be.

She wandered idly around the pharmacy while she waited for the prescription to be filled, picking out lipsticks and eye-shadows in shades she would normally never willingly wear. They would come in handy, however, should the need for a low-key disguise arise.

Chiyoh was startled for a moment when Hannibal's fake name was called out. She gathered her things, apprehension filling her as she made her way over to the counter. The pharmacist smiled, and handed over the bags of drugs, explaining the dosages of each one. Chiyoh thanked her, and pulled her card out to pay for it all. If the staff there were curious about the lack of insurance, they didn't mention it.

Job done, Chiyoh all but fled the building, still sure that someone was going to grab her and haul her away, force her to tell them where Hannibal was. She scurried along the path, ducking into a corner store to grab a couple of the local newspapers. What she saw made her wish she hadn't.

“ _Hero cop killed in serial killer showdown!”_ screamed the headline, an old photo of Will centred immediately beneath it. She grabbed a copy of the paper, throwing money down on the counter and leaving the store. She scanned the paper first, then sat down for a more in-depth read. According to the reports, Will had been found non-responsive at the base of the cliff, not far from where they would have come out had things gone more to plan. He had been rushed to hospital, but had died of his injuries overnight.

Chiyoh blinked.

She stood slowly, fingers gripping the paper tightly.

She had no idea how she was going to break this to Hannibal.

/--/

Despite her ability to steal, and then hide, a car from the town to hasten her return, it was still late afternoon by the time Chiyoh made it back to the boat. She was only mildly surprised to find Hannibal awake, half sitting up against his pillows. His face was almost grey from pain, but she had to admit he was making a valiant effort not to show it.

“Chiyoh,” he said, his voice strained, but pleased. “I see you've been busy.”

His eyes dropped to Chiyoh's bag, bulging now with drugs, supplies...

The paper.

She smiled wanly, reaching a hand to brush against Hannibal's forehead. It was cool to touch, but not cold. She sighed inwardly in relief.

“What happened up there, Hannibal?” she asked, unable to contain her need to know.

“Will didn't tell you?” he replied, and oh how Chiyoh wished she had kept her mouth shut, just to have a few more moments before she had to destroy Hannibal all over again. For now he just looked confused, but the longer she remained silent, the blanker his face became. “Chiyoh?” he asked, only it sounded more like a command.

“I was not able to save Will Graham,” she said, her voice calm, emotionless, even to her own ears.

“Then we will go and find him,” Hannibal stated simply, as though Chiyoh had just said they were out of bread.

“Hannibal,” Chiyoh tried again, searching for the right words to use. She couldn't find them, not in English, nor Japanese, or Lithuanian. Instead she reached into the bag, pulling it out and handing it to Hannibal. She watched as his eyes scanned the words, his fingers tightening on the pages. There was the slightest shiver through the paper, and then he dropped it.

“A lie,” Hannibal pronounced. “Something concocted by Jack Crawford, I've no doubt.”

Chiyoh could only watch him, helpless, as he lay back with a grimace.

“Hannibal, I don't believe -”

“If Will Graham were dead, Chiyoh, I would know it, as surely as I would know it if I had lost my limbs in that fall. He is not dead. However, knowing Will's capacity to resist Jack, and knowing Jack's drive to win at all costs, I would not be surprised if Will is not yet aware of his 'death'.”

“Hannibal, you didn't see what it was like when you fell. How close you came to landing on the rocks, how the waves pounded and tried to drag you under. _I could not find Will Graham anywhere._ ”

Hannibal just stared at Chiyoh blankly, but she could see the turmoil below the surface. It chilled her, not knowing how he was going to react, only knowing that he was more likely than ever to do something that was going to get him killed, and she had no idea what to do about it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some Hannibal POV, finally.

Hannibal wasn't worried – not about the news headlines, at least. If there was anything he was sure of, it was not only Jack's _ability_ to manufacture a situation like this, but his undoubted delight in doing so. No, what he was worried about were Will's injuries, psychological more than physical, once he found out what Jack had done. Everything they had been through together had led them to this moment, and now when Will was at his most vulnerable, there was the very real possibility that Jack would ruin everything. The mere thought was unforgivable.

And here was Hannibal, barely able to sit up, let alone find Will, retrieve him, and deal with Jack once and for all.

To say he was infuriated was an understatement, and his rage only grew with every second he lay there, unable to do anything about it. Chiyoh seemed to be convinced that it was true, but Chiyoh didn't know Jack. She did, however, have first-hand knowledge of Will's capacity for survival. He couldn't quite work out why she couldn't see it.

“It's time for us to go,” said the woman herself, ducking her head as she came down the stairs.

“No,” said Hannibal, struggling to sit upright. He'd fought through worse; he'd fight through this, too.

“No?” repeated Chiyoh, her tone flat.

“We aren't leaving here without Will Graham.”

“He's dead, Hannibal,” Chiyoh said, and Hannibal chose to ignore the fact that those three words hurt far more than any of his injuries; more than the gunshot wound, more than the torn and bruised and broken parts of his body. “And even if he weren't, you are in no position to do anything about it.”

“We are staying.”

“They are looking for you, Hannibal. We got away, but not far enough to escape them completely. We are leaving.”

“No, we are not,” he said quietly, this time both unable and unwilling to stop the dark notes of warning from creeping into his voice. His bond with Chiyoh was strong, that was true, but no matter how strong it was, no matter how strong _any_ other bond could be, nothing would ever come close to his devotion to Will Graham. There was nothing, _no one_ he would not pass over to reach Will.

That, it had become abundantly clear three years ago, included himself.

Chiyoh just looked at him flatly, her entire body still and relaxed, before she turned her back, packing away any loose, unnecessary items in preparation.

“We are going,” she said, throwing up a hand to silence him the moment he opened his mouth to protest. “You are under my care until you are able to take care of yourself. I have your safe house in Argentina ready. We will go there, I will leave you comfortable with the supplies you need, and I will come back to find out the truth.”

Hannibal's first instinct was to protest, but on this occasion logic won out. She was right; of course she was right. Trying to get Will now would be an exercise in futility. No, it would be better by far to wait until he was back to his full strength.

Logically, it all made sense.

Logically, he knew that was the correct course of action.

Logically.

Logic did not, _could_ not, stop the black, seething pit of frustration and despair he found himself falling into, however. It could not stop him from feeling the anguish of _finally_ having Will so completely, and then having him torn away from him so cruelly.

Instead of answering Chiyoh, Hannibal slid back down in his bed, turning painfully onto his uninjured side – _less_ injured, really – and closing his eyes. The sounds of Chiyoh finishing her preparations followed him into sleep, and he dreamt it was Will beside him, hale, hearty, _healthy,_ as they planned their revenge.

/--/

The next few weeks sorely tested Hannibal's resolve, his patience, and Chiyoh's dedication. The journey to the safe house was relatively straightforward – there were no problems to speak of, and the people Chiyoh paid handsomely to ease their path did their jobs quickly, quietly, and efficiently. New identities were created, and before they knew it the two of them were settled into a discreet, well-supplied home.

Hannibal had commandeered the tablet, scouring each and every report of Will's supposed death for a sign, _any_ sign, of what might really have happened. To his profound disgust, the only news source – and he used that term as loosely as it was possible to be used – that did anything other than regurgitate the same tired statements put out by Jack was Tattlecrime, and Freddie Lounds could only barely be trusted.

Still, the fact that she _wasn't_ going along with it meant that she could sniff out the lie, even if she had no idea what it really was. Hannibal found himself idling away his convalescence imagining that he and Will were doing exactly what Freddie speculated. One week it was sipping cocktails on a far-off beach, the next it was engaging in slaughter and cannibalism together. To Hannibal, one was as appealing as the other, as long as it was with Will Graham.

But still, as he grew stronger, the itch to find Will grew to a burning pain, a physical need to have him before him, to have Will in his sight, in his presence, in his arms. His retreats to his mind palace grew progressively more ineffectual, the supports and strategies he had put in place to see him through his incarceration now little more than a child's daydreams. It was intolerable.

The day he read the report of Will's funeral – and even that news was held back for weeks, a fact that cracked Hannibal's control and led to the quiet shattering of the wine glass he was holding – was the day he had had enough.

His rage was quiet now, calm, an iceberg moving with purpose towards its target.

He moved with purpose, collecting every item he would need; passport, clothes to blend in, clothes to stand out, money and supplies. He packed them carefully into his bag and strode to the door, and it was only then that he realised he had made no plans. No plans to get there, no plans to find Jack, not so much as a thought about what he would do when he did. It didn't matter. His planning could start from the moment he stepped out of the door. He was done with being careful. Care had gotten him nowhere. Perhaps a little recklessness was needed.

“ _Hannibal._ ”

Chiyoh's quiet voice hissed across the courtyard. She stood before the car, just arrived back from her latest expedition. Hannibal wasn't deterred. He strode forwards, holding his hand out for the keys. Chiyoh didn't so much as blink; instead, she slid the keys smoothly into her pocket.

“Where are you going?” she asked, wariness in her voice.

“That is none of your concern,” Hannibal said coldly. He kept his hand outstretched, waiting for Chiyoh to give him the keys. She did not.

“Are you planning on finding Will Graham?” she asked, calm and steady looking as ever. Hannibal's eyes narrowed as he contemplated his answers.

“Yes,” he finally replied, and he lowered his hand. She clearly was not going to just hand the keys over, so another plan was needed.

“May I ask why?”

“Because I must.”

Chiyoh looked at him quietly, thoughtfully.

“What has happened?” she asked, and this time there was no wariness, just gentle concern. It was somehow harder for Hannibal to deal with, and he found himself speaking truthfully despite himself.

“There were reports of Will's funeral. I need to find Jack and make him tell me the truth.”

“And when you find him, and make him tell you the truth?”

“Then I will kill him,” he answered simply. And it was simple. Find Jack. Use whatever means necessary to find out what he'd done with Will, and then dispose of him.

“You do not believe they will be looking for you, just as you are looking for them.”

It was a statement from Chiyoh, not a question. Did she believe him that foolish?

“I know they will be looking for me, no matter how they declare my death for all to hear. I just need to be fast.”

“And if you are not fast enough? Will you abandon your vision of Will Graham to rush to your own death?”

Hannibal stilled at the statement. He knew that going directly after Jack, particularly with no plan, was foolhardy in the extreme. However, sitting here and doing nothing, letting Jack chip away at all the work he and Will had done to finally belong to one another was not an option for Hannibal.

“Let me go,” Chiyoh said quietly, her gaze steely and fixed on Hannibal. “Jack Crawford is the only person who has met me, and he is unlikely to remember a woman he met briefly three years ago. And I am more than capable of changing my appearance to make sure of it.”

Hannibal stood still for a moment longer, fingers still itching to take the keys from her and leave anyway. With the smallest of sighs he nodded, and he could feel his shoulders droop as though the strings attached to them had been cut.

“Let me prepare. I will leave early tomorrow.”

She turned away from him then and began pulling the bags of supplies from the car, before shutting and locking the doors and brushing past him. He was left standing outside, his bag still in hand but now at a loss for what to do. He hadn't felt this helpless since he was a child, and he had sworn that never again would he be made to feel this way. And yet Will Graham, without even being anywhere near him, had brought him to his knees. A part of him wished that he had managed to go through with killing and eating Will that day in Florence, though the greater part argued that had he succeeded, this feeling would have been with him forever, and he knew that to be the truth.

He turned, and followed Chiyoh inside.

/--/

“Before I leave,” Chiyoh said over breakfast, finishing off her preparations as she ate, “I want you to be honest with me.”

Hannibal waited for more, but when it became clear she was waiting for the promise, he did so.

“I will be honest,” he said, willing to give Chiyoh whatever she needed in return for what she had done and was doing for him.

“What will you do? If Will Graham is alive, if he is dead … what will you do?”

“I haven't given it as much thought as I should have,” he answered, since they were being honest. “It will be easier for me to plan once I know what I am planning for.”

“If I were to tell you when I return that Will is alive?”

Hannibal thought for a moment before answering.

“Then I will go and get him. I will carve through the entire FBI, if I need to. Nothing will stop me from getting him, and nothing will stop him from knowing I am coming.”

“Once you are reunited? What then?”

“Then I will do whatever it is that Will asks of me. I am his.”

Hannibal had never said that out loud before. It felt good, in a way that he never thought it could have.

“What if he demands that you turn yourself back in? What if he rejects you once more?”

“He will not. But should he ask me to, then I will. Even if I am once more locked away, he will be unable to resist coming back to me, if only to look. He has already proven that.”

Chiyoh watched him, her face inscrutable.

“And if I find he is dead?” she continued, after a moment of silence.

“He is not.”

“ _If_ I find he is dead?” she repeated, more strongly this time, and now Hannibal was forced to finally confront a possible reality that he had so far managed to avoid.

“I don't know,” he said softly, for the first time since he was a boy genuinely unsure of what path to take. “I will have to kill Jack, for being responsible for his death,” he went on, speaking as he thought. “This is his fault, ultimately. Alana, perhaps. I did promise, after all. Beyond that...”

“If he is dead,” Chiyoh said gently, her face now less of motionless mask as she allowed herself to soften in the face of what must be Hannibal's obvious pain, “will you allow me to protect you, until you are able to do so yourself?”

Hannibal's face shuttered. He was fond of Chiyoh, and was well aware of her protective tendencies towards him, but to actively and consciously acknowledge that was a step too far for him.

“You may remain with me, if that is your choice,” he allowed. It was as far as he was willing to go. Chiyoh merely nodded, then gathered her things.

“I will return soon,” she said, turning to watch him once more, her eyes roaming over his face as though cataloguing every expression upon it. He had no idea what she was thinking, and he had no choice but to trust her.

With a nod she was gone, and Hannibal sat down to wait.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Returning to Baltimore was easy. Chiyoh spent the flight reviewing all she could find about Will's reported death; newspaper articles, filmed press-conferences, online articles. What particularly caught her attention were the press-conferences. In the background of each and every one was Alana Bloom. The early ones were standard, her face a calm mask plastered on for the benefit of anyone who may have noticed her, but it didn't take long for Chiyoh to notice a difference. As time went on, from the first days of the escape news through to the reports of Will's death and funeral, her face grew more and more disgruntled, and she seemed to be progressively less interested in hiding it.

That was interesting.

Jack Crawford, a little older, a little more fraught looking than when she had seen him last, did not change. His entire demeanour was rock solid from day one, his official narrative not changing in the slightest. Chiyoh mulled over the options she had, eventually deciding that Alana would be her best option. Jack would be on guard, and while she had no doubt that he would barely remember her, it seemed prudent to avoid even that small risk – not unless she had no choice but to interact with him directly, anyway.

Decision made, she used the plane's wifi to fire off an email to the Baltimore State Hospital under her assumed identity – a reporter for Japan's national news service - requesting an interview with Doctor Bloom. To her surprise, the answer arrived within the hour, granting her an appointment not long after she would be arriving in the city.

That sorted, her other major concern was Hannibal himself. He'd been getting progressively more twitchy, less Hannibal-like. As the days had worn on, they'd argued more; not true arguments as others would understand them, but shifts in attitude, comments thrown about that needled and barbed. Chiyoh could understand, to a degree, but that didn't mean that she liked it at all. His obsession with Will Graham was affecting him more and more each day, and she was entirely powerless to do anything about it. And it _would_ get him killed.

She was unsure what would be better; for Will to be alive, so that she could find a way to smuggle him back to Hannibal, or for him to truly have died, so that she would have a chance to pull him through, get him re-centred.

Still, there was nothing she could do until she knew, so instead she sat back and tried to sleep.

/--/

It didn't take long after Chiyoh left for Hannibal to grow restless She was right about a lot of things, of course. He didn't have a plan, not for anything. And as he had no doubts that she would find Will alive, his first decision was to begin planning for his return. A new identification would be the first thing, of course. Whatever his new identity was now, it was sure to be being tracked by Jack, and so a replacement would be needed the moment he arrived. Perhaps before; he knew it would not be difficult to arrange matters here, and then courier the necessary documents to wherever it was that Chiyoh found him.

They would be able to make more in-depth plans together, certainly, though Hannibal had particular items on his list that he wanted to take care of, starting with Jack Crawford. Alana would get the payment he had promised her. Bedelia … Bedelia he wasn't sure about. He had to respect the way she had come out of their adventures together without a scratch. He hadn't disputed her accusations, to be sure, instead going along with what she said, but it was a plan entirely of her own making. He would have to think on that, before he could decide what to do with her. Maybe he would leave her alone. Maybe Will would demand that they not go near any of them. Hannibal wouldn't like it, would attempt to make him see reason, but ultimately he knew that if Will truly wanted him to do something – or not do it, as the case may be – then he would acquiesce.

His wanderings took him back over to his tablet, and he opened his browser to see if there was any news to be found. It was still open on the page he had found yesterday, the one that so gleefully reported on Will's funeral. There was even a photo, taken from some distance away, but the detail was clear enough. He could see the woman beside the grave, her form rigid and without expression, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of the young boy in front of her. That, presumably, was Will's now former wife. He sniffed, and closed the tab.

His jealousy was an abstract thing now, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He dropped the tablet on the table and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey. It made no difference that it was early in the morning, or that he had no particular fondness for the drink. It made him think of Will, and so he savoured the taste as he pondered his next move.

He very deliberately did not wonder what to do if he was wrong, if Will really was dead. There were some things in Hannibal's life that were just utterly inconceivable.

/--/

As soon as Chiyoh arrived in Baltimore, she picked up her rental car and checked in to her hotel, dropping her bags and heading straight for the shower. She washed off the grime of travel, quickly shampooing her hair then rinsing, stepping out to remove her make up. She gazed at herself in the mirror for a long moment, deciding on the best look. She carefully dried her hair, brushing it down and forward until it fell loosely above her shoulders, soft and free. Her make up was carefully applied, natural eye colours and a pale, petal pink lipstick. Once done, she dug through her bags, pulling out a white shirt embroidered with delicate white flowers, a pink pencil skirt, and a matching pink jacket. It was uncomfortable, dressing so bright and open, but she could barely recognise herself. There was little chance anyone else would look at her and know.

From there it was easy. She drove to the hospital, parking in the visitors area and arranging her fake ID. She double checked her appearance, practising a smile in the mirror. It felt brittle, much like the rest of her disguise, but it looked convincing enough. She took a breath, stepped out of the car, and made her way inside.

/--/

“I must admit, I'm surprised that you, or _any_ journalist would want to interview me,” Alana said after the greetings were made, settling herself down in her chair. “Jack Crawford is leading the investigation, and that's all but wrapped up now. I'm not sure what else you want me to add.”

Chiyoh took note of Alana's polite surface, one that masked an immense amount of tension beneath.

“I'm really here to talk about Will Graham,” Chiyoh began, a bright, but sympathetic smile on her face. “We often hear everything about the villains, but we rarely get to hear the same level of detail about the heroes.”

Alana blinked, her polite smile dropping for a moment before brightening once again.

“Well, I don't know what I can tell you, but I'll try.”

“You and Mr Graham were close, I believe?” Chiyoh began, pulling out her pen and paper. She had debated whether to bring a recorder, but she wasn't really interested in the answers themselves; there was no way she could ask the real questions she needed. No, Chiyoh was more interested in _how_ Alana answered the questions.

“Once,” Alana began slowly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “That was a long time ago, though.”

“Yes, I understand you both married other people. Were you surprised when he came back, despite his insistence on leaving that life behind after everything that happened with Hannibal Lecter?”

“Yes, and no. Will has always had a very strong moral drive, a need to help other people no matter the cost to himself. Jack -”

Alana cut herself off then, taking a breath before continuing.

“Jack was in a difficult position, and knew that Will could help. It was a collision of circumstance that resulted in Will being where he was. And doing what he did.”

Chiyoh was keenly aware of just how emotionless Alana was, given she had just lost someone very close to her. She hadn't been shy in hiding her emotions when she thought no one was watching her during the press conferences, so the lack of expression now was something Chiyoh was very interested in.

“Do you think that his 'strong moral drive', as you term it, together with his skills in this job, could have led to him foreseeing this result? The death of not only the Tooth Fairy, but also Hannibal Lecter and himself?”

“I really couldn't say,” Alana said with a bland smile. “I'm sure he didn't set out with the intention of killing anybody.”

There was something in the way that she said it that had the wheels in Chiyoh's mind turning. If she had to bet one way or the other, she would say that the behind the scenes plan was _exactly_ that – to kill someone. Whether that was just Dolarhyde, or Hannibal as well, Chiyoh couldn't be sure. To say it raised her hackles, however, would be an understatement.

“And what exactly was the nature of Mister Graham's relationship with Doctor Lecter? There has been a lot of speculation over the years. His decision to visit him in the weeks leading up to what happened only stoked those rumours.”

Chiyoh held her breath, just for a moment; she hadn't intended to ask that question, but the revelation that Will may have deliberately planned all of this made it impossible for her not to. She sent a silent thanks to Freddie Lounds for having been so open with her reporting of those rumours, which made it possible to ask in the first place.

“Hannibal Lecter was a very manipulative man,” Alana said, clearly taking great care to choose her words carefully. “Will has a particular vulnerability whenever Hannibal is involved. Beyond that all I can say is that the speculation is just that – speculation.”

“So there is no truth to the rumours that they may have been attempting to run away together?”

Alana's eye flashed with barely subdued anger.

“Not the Will Graham I know, no matter what Freddie Lounds may delight in reporting to the world. He's not a monster.”

Chiyoh let it slide then, moving the interview along to more generic topics.

It didn't escape her notice that Alana did not once refer to Will in the past tense.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay in updating! Was writing my Hannibal Big Bang fic and it kinda got away on me a bit, so all my other WIPs ended up having to go on an unplanned hiatus.
> 
> But here we go, the turning point in this part of the fic, and the part where things are potentially going to get more than a little hairy for Chiyoh. Only a short one, because the final 2/3 chapters are going to be where all the action is...

By the end of the first week Chiyoh was away, Hannibal was starting to feel a little on edge. By the end of the second, he was nearly ready to get on the first plane back to the States and hunt Jack down himself. There was little he would like more than to torture him, slowly, until he finally revealed Will's whereabouts, and then torture him some more just for the fun of it before finally finishing him off. It would be no less than he deserved.

Chiyoh had been keeping in daily contact, at least, even if she claimed to have little to report. She had met with Alana on her first afternoon in Baltimore, which surprised Hannibal. Not that she'd thought to speak with her – that was a given; Alana always knew more than people realised, whether she knew it herself or not – but that Alana had been so quick to speak to someone. Chiyoh must have better acting abilities than Hannibal gave her credit for. Or, perhaps, Alana was just that desperate to talk to somebody about Will. Whatever the reasoning, Chiyoh hadn't been forthcoming about what they had discussed, except to say that it had given her some leads.

Over the course of his life, there had been a lot that Hannibal had been forced to tolerate, that he had had to bear no matter how difficult the circumstances. He had thought he was more than well enough equipped to deal with Chiyoh finding Will for him, when he couldn't do it himself.

He was not.

He ran through the stash of the whiskey that reminded him so much of Will halfway through the second week, and wondered if Will was doing the same thing. It always had been the other man's coping mechanism, and finding himself doing the same thing left Hannibal half overwhelmed with melancholy, and half irritated with himself over his own declining control. The day the last bottle was emptied, he dropped it in the middle of the kitchen floor and looked down at the glittering shards, curious if this was to be his new teacup. If it would be _their_ new teacup. Despite the quantities he had consumed those past days, Hannibal hadn't gotten drunk but now, looking at the jagged glass edges, he thought maybe he should have. He sighed, and began sweeping the mess up. It was time to stop whatever _this_ was, and start finding Will.

/--/

Chiyoh felt more than a little guilty at not telling Hannibal everything, but until she could be sure _what_ she was telling him, it was safer to say nothing. She had spent the last couple of weeks following Alana, and it had been worth the effort. Almost every day Alana had made at least one trip to a facility just outside of Baltimore proper; it was unclear just _what_ exactly this facility was, but Chiyoh had no doubts it involved Will in some way. The security around the building was subtle, but tight; tight enough for her to not be willing to risk getting close. Instead, she parked her car on a hill a reasonable distance away, watching through high-powered binoculars and spreading bird books around her in case anyone grew suspicious. She even managed to learn a thing or two about the birds in the area, when she was passing the time.

And then there came a day a different car arrived, and she got a glimpse of a face she recognised all too well climbing into it. His hair was shaggier, limper, his beard far thicker than she could recall seeing before, but even from a distance there was no mistaking Will Graham's profile. Alana was driving, leaving her own car behind, and no one else got into the vehicle with them. If nothing else, that settled one thing. Will was definitely not under arrest.

She watched the car disappear, mildly displeased at her inability to follow it, then switched her attention to the woman who had brought the car to the facility in the first place. Margot Verger, Alana's wife. She hadn't made her presence known to Will, seeming to prefer remaining unseen. She was watching the car Will and Alana were in, leaning on the top of Alana's own car as she did so. Chiyoh watched her climb into Alana's car, then head off in the same direction.

She was just as intrigued by the presence of Margot as she was by the lack of any sign of Jack Crawford. He had turned up a few times, particularly early on, but those visits had grown few and far between, until they had apparently stopped entirely. Whatever was going on with Will Graham, it was obviously nothing to do with law enforcement. Jack seemed to have no interest in keeping Will in custody, if indeed Will ever was. A disquieting feeling settled over Chiyoh. There were few conclusions she could reach, given how things appeared to be playing out, and none of them were ones she could go to Hannibal with. Not if she wanted him to remain safely away from Baltimore.

/--/

Chiyoh decided to wait before going back to following Alana. Wherever she had taken him, Chiyoh was sure she would go back, and she needed to sort out what she was going to do once she saw him. After a week, and despite her best efforts, she was still no nearer to a workable plan. In frustration, she could think of nothing to do but follow Alana on her next journey, and try to work off what she could see.

It was surprisingly easy. Alana and Margot seemed to have no awareness of what was going on, of what the potential dangers were. She supposed that perhaps they were predisposed to looking out for Hannibal, as though it would never occur to him to send someone in his stead. It wasn't drastically far from the truth, she had to admit. If she hadn't the influence on Hannibal that she did, and even _that_ influence was tenuous at best – there would have been little she could do other than leave the country and watch the inevitable blood bath that would ensue. And that may yet be a possibility, if she couldn't find what Hannibal needed.

She pushed that thought aside. It was something she would deal with if and when she needed to, and not before. It was still only a possibility. As it was, she just followed, and observed, and waited to find out whatever she could.

The journey Alana and Margot took was surprisingly short, especially when considering Chiyoh's instincts were proved correct, and Will was indeed at the other end of the trip. She watched from afar as the women approached the little house he was apparently living in, the man himself waiting in the doorway. He didn't look particularly happy, nor did he look particularly sad. He was blank, but he welcomed them in without argument. Chiyoh watched while they talked inside, while Will made them coffee, while he waved them goodbye. She continued watching, late into that day, leaving only to find herself accommodation for the night, then returning for the evening. She kept up her silent vigil for days, getting a feel for the comings and goings of this peculiar man who was the subject of her brother's obsessive affections.

He tinkered on engines which he would have picked up once he'd finished whatever it was he was doing with them. He made semi-regular trips into town for supplies. He never gave any indication that he was intending anything other than remaining exactly where he was, enjoying his visits with Alana and Margot. She had no doubts they were keeping an eye on him, just as she had no doubts he was aware of that fact. Sometimes he would look around the property, as though searching for something – someone? - but he never looked surprised when he saw nothing. Chiyoh couldn't stop the conclusion that was fast growing: Will was waiting for Hannibal, and Alana knew it. And if Alana knew it, it was highly likely Jack knew it as well. Could this be a trap? Could Will have engineered this entire thing, just to lure Hannibal out so he could be caught once and for all?

The risk was too great. She couldn't trust Will, not with his history, not with his current behaviour, and she couldn't allow Hannibal to cage himself again. Especially not when she was convinced that they would not allow him to be caged. They would kill him.

She made up her mind. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Hannibal, how she was even going to be able to try, but it was her job to save him, even if that meant saving him from himself.

That Tuesday morning she sat in her usual, secluded spot, waiting for Will to leave. As soon as he was out of sight she emerged, a plain envelope in her hand. As little loyalty as she felt for Will, there was still the possibility that he could be truly waiting for Hannibal, and if so, she needed to cut that connection now. It would be kinder on the both of them. She had spent more time that she should have the night before, agonising over how best to put things, before eventually deciding on a simple _I'm sorry_. She knew Will would understand, would get the message behind the message.

She dropped the envelope in the letterbox and walked away without another glance back.

She had bigger problems to deal with now.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chiyoh had always prided herself on her ability to remain calm in even the most taxing situations, but she found herself unable to stop fidgeting the closer the plane got to landing in Argentina. When she climbed into the car to head back to the safe house, she couldn't keep her fingers from tapping convulsively against the steering wheel, and without her even realising it on a conscious level, her trip back took half an hour longer than it normally would as she took every detour and long, meandering side road that she could.

She hadn't planned how she was going to tell Hannibal; how could she possibly plan for something like that? Hannibal at his best was an unknown quantity, and at his worst? She had never seen it, but she knew beyond any sort of doubt that it was not going to be pretty. When she drove past the turn off to their hideaway she knew she was letting the situation get to her. She hadn't told him she was coming back, and he was probably on the verge of tearing the house apart after she didn't check in with him. It was best for her to just swallow her fears and get it over with.

She spun the car around on the deserted road, forcing herself back into a more determined state. So focussed was she on calming herself that she didn't notice how quickly she was approaching the house until she was parked in front of it. The doors and windows were closed, despite the mid afternoon sun. She got out of the car and walked to the door, leaving her small bags of clothing in the car. They could wait.

She opened the door almost silently, slipping in through the narrow opening and closing it just as quietly behind her. The house was still, and she wondered if maybe one day without contact was enough to have Hannibal flying off the handle and heading back to the US. What she didn't expect to find was Hannibal sprawled out on the couch, the stench of whiskey surrounding him. At first glance he appeared to be passed out, until his eyes opened and met hers. They were glazed, but behind that was an unveiled, almost reptilian intelligence. She suppressed a shiver as she realised that what she was seeing was a Hannibal wearing a cracked mask, allowing some of his deeper nature to shine through.

“Chiyoh,” he said flatly, the word falling from his mouth with a thud.

“You're drunk,” she answered, choosing to state the obvious in an attempt to gauge his mood.

“Very good. You always were skilled at reading what was right in front of your face.”

“Why are you drunk?” she asked, choosing to ignore, as much for her own safety as anything, the poorly formed insult.

“I have little doubt Will is drunk,” he said, and while it was clear he had consumed a great deal of the bottle beside him, his ability to form words clearly and precisely was admirable. “I felt like joining him in this at least, since I am unable to join him in any physical sense.”

He sat up then, while Chiyoh remained still, her body on alert. If she had come bearing any news other than what she had, she would have no fear of him hurting her at all; he didn't have it in him, she thought. There was no telling what the news would do to him though.

“So where is he?” he continued, peering behind her, as though Will would be hiding somewhere ready to leap out and yell 'surprise!'.

“He is not here,” she said, watching him carefully. His gaze returned to her, sharper now.

“Why not?” His voice was deadly calm, sharp and filled with warning. It did not deter her.

“I tracked down what happened to him,” she began, and it was only there that she faltered. She had two choices: tell Hannibal the truth, that Will was colluding with Alana and Margot, and likely by extension Jack, and thereby risk Hannibal handling it as well as he handled Will's last betrayal, or tell him a lie so he could mourn, and perhaps have a chance of moving on.

“He is dead,” she said, the words almost out of her mouth before she had even made the conscious decision to utter them. Hannibal's face flickered briefly, nameless emotion crossing his features, before all expression shut down.

“No,” he whispered, and while it was such a quietly spoken syllable, it carried behind it all the wounded rage and pain of the world. Chiyoh dropped to her knees before him, cradling his face in her hands. She had once wanted to cage this wild beast. She wished she could travel back to that time and make it happen, so she could spare him this pain.

“He is gone,” she whispered back. Hannibal's eyes searched her face, and she forced herself to make eye contact with him. His nostrils flared slightly and he looked so confused, so lost, and her heart broke for him, but she knew it was for the best.

“I'm sorry,” she continued, though he couldn't know that she'd said the same words to Will, or that she meant them in an entirely different way to how they were received.

“I was so sure I would know it, if he were really gone,” he said, his voice finally beginning to slur. It was almost as though he had given up maintaining his human façade. “I don't understand how I couldn't know it.”

For a brief moment, Chiyoh had to fight the self-loathing welling up within her, to fight the urge to come clean and tell Hannibal the truth. She was taking advantage of his trust in her, and using it to hurt him, but the alternative was so much worse. Better a fast wound now, than drawn out agony later.

“I'm so sorry,” she repeated, and she meant it more than she had meant anything else in her life. She was truly, deeply, _profoundly_ sorry, that she had to lie, that he had ended up like this, that Will couldn't prove himself to be worthy of Hannibal. She was sorry.

He stood, brushing her hands from his face and swaying slightly as he blinked his eyes back into focus.

“I need to plan,” he muttered thickly as he visibly gathered himself then staggered from the room. Chiyoh watched as he made his way into his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

/--/

Hannibal allowed himself a week to wallow in a grief and alcohol induced haze, but when he awoke the morning of the second week he forced himself to let it go. What replaced it was anger, a burning rage so hotly incandescent that he wondered how the world was able to resist its force. He was out of bed and showered long before the sun rose, beginning a new regime. Between his injuries and his unforeseen emotional state, to say nothing of his years spent in confinement, his body had lost much of its tone. The first thing on his list was to regain his physical conditioning; if he planned to take on Jack Crawford, he would need to be a near to his peak as he could manage.

He was not unaware of the careful way Chiyoh behaved around him, as though he were something fragile enough to break if she weren't careful. It only provided the drive for him to work harder, to make sure he could exact his revenge on Jack in the most efficient manner possible. Efficient, however, did not mean quick, and it did not mean painless. He would make Jack pay until he grew tired of his screams, and then he would make him pay some more.

And yet, despite it all, he still could not shake the feeling that Will was still out there, somewhere. Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite Chiyoh's own investigations, he still could not bring himself to entirely believe it to be true. He had no idea if it because of some type of deep-seated denial, or because he believed there to be a chance that Chiyoh had been misled, but it was a feeling he had all the same. And so he trained, building his strength back to where it was, and all the while he plotted and planned and dreamed of what he would do. Jack would only be the beginning, though he would be an eminently satisfying beginning.

The weeks he spent reconditioning himself seemed to be wearing on Chiyoh's patience, though what she was searching for, he did not know. What he _did_ know was that there was something from her trip to find the truth that she was hiding from him, something that seemed to revolve around Alana. He had toyed with the idea of sparing Alana, since if Will were around Hannibal knew that he would try to convince him to spare her, but the role she had played in Will's death was too great to overlook. She had helped to remove Will, who would have been the only barrier between her and her death. Chiyoh's reticence only reinforced that for him.

The day he sharpened his knives was a day to remember. He drove far from their safe house, ignoring Chiyoh's pleading to maintain a low profile. It was easy enough to find someone to practice on, given how low his standards were, given how brightly his rage still burned. When he cut the man's throat he eschewed his usual care, bathing beneath the hot red shower. It reminded him of Will, to be blood soaked like this once more. He carved the body into pieces, not willing to consume anything if it couldn't be consumed with Will, and he knew, _knew_ that this would hold as long as need be. He would carefully save the pieces of Jack he harvested until Will could tell him how he wanted them served.

He didn't bother cleaning himself once the body was disposed of, and if Chiyoh noticed the tear tracks that cut through the blood on his face when he returned, she didn't say anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split this chapter for a variety of reasons. I hope you like it though!


	8. Chapter 8

Chiyoh walked in on Hannibal packing his bags, something he had been hoping to avoid. He had hoped to be gone by the time she returned.

“Where are you going?” she asked coolly, her face a carefully blank mask.

“I have work to do and promises to keep. I have spent far too long here wallowing in self pity.”

Chiyoh stood silently for a moment. Hannibal wondered if she was planning on walking away without another word, or if she was formulating the best argument against his leaving. She had never been fond of the idea of him getting his revenge on those who had taken Will away from him.

“I'm going with you,” she said finally.

Well.

That was not what Hannibal expected, nor was it what he wanted. He had enormous respect, trust and affection for Chiyoh; she was, after all, like a sister to him. But this was something he needed to do alone. It was _his_ revenge, and he needed to be the one to see it through.

“This is my job, my responsibility, and my _need,”_ he said roughly, turning back to continue carefully placing clothes into his bags. His instruments would be staying here – it was too much trouble to bribe officials to look the other way, especially when his preference was for a good, sharp (or perhaps not so sharp – he hadn't quite decided) set of knives that could be acquired almost anywhere.

“Even still, I would feel better if someone were watching over you. Don't let Will Graham still be the reason for your death.”

Her words were softly delivered and Hannibal closed his eyes as he felt her concern wash over him.

“It will be dangerous,” he said after a moment's thought.

“Which is why I should be there.”

“I won't be able to protect you, should things go wrong.”

“I am there to protect you, not the other way around.”

“We will do what I say, when I say.”

“If you must, but I will offer my opinion. I hope you will at least consider it, when you are making your decisions.”

“And if I don't?

“I will follow you anyway, and do what I can to see that you remain free. It would be better to utilise me though, I think.”

She was correct, of course. Chiyoh often was. Two sets of eyes were better than one, and she did have a unique way of looking at things that could prove helpful.

He nodded.

“Pack what you need, then. We are leaving in half an hour.”

/--/

It had been surprisingly easy to transit back into the US. Apparently they had taken the news of his death very easily, and between that and his more tanned, long-haired appearance, no one so much as batted an eyelid at his fake ID. Of course, that didn't mean that he had the slightest intention of just waltzing in to Baltimore without planning first. If there was anyone that would be likely to recognise him despite his supposed death, they would almost certainly be in his former city of residence. It was Chiyoh's idea to have them start off in Gettysburg. It was close enough to Baltimore, without being so close that he would be likely to run into any former close acquaintances, and he had to admit he was drawn to the poetry of being based there.

They had been settled there for a week, Chiyoh making daily trips to Baltimore and Quantico. She reported back faithfully with Jack's comings and goings, with Alana's routines. It was easy enough to build up a picture of their days, which were surprisingly unchanged from when he was free. He noticed that Chiyoh seemed perplexed by Alana's insistence on hovering around Baltimore, with very few trips anywhere other than the Verger Estate and work, but he brushed it off. It was unimportant, given the work they were doing.

Then, one entirely unremarkable afternoon, all of his carefully constructed plans were thrown into disarray.

“What are you doing?” asked Chiyoh, walking into Hannibal's hotel room. It was a nice enough hotel, if a little tired, and they had taken adjoining rooms. Hannibal, under Chiyoh's urging, was taking a break from his planning, his single-minded focus on what exactly he was going to do to first Jack, and then Alana. If he was to announce his return, it only made sense that he do it in as spectacular a fashion as he could manage.

“I thought I'd catch up with what the delightful Ms Lounds has been peddling. I've rather fallen out of the habit over the last couple of months.”

And indeed, he hadn't so much as looked at any news source since Chiyoh had brought him the news he had least wanted to hear. It all seemed so … _pointless._ And judging the cursory glance he was giving the Tattle Crime website, he hadn't missed a great deal. Or so he thought, until a refresh brought up a glaring red _Breaking News_ banner.

_Lecter Copycat Strikes Again!_

proclaimed the appalling garish lettering. A copycat? This could be interesting, he mused, tapping the read more to find out more about this interloper. He was more than a little stunned to learn that someone had, badly, according to Freddie Lounds, reproduced his Sheldon Isley tableau. Intrigued, he clicked the link to the first story, to find not just a description, but a blurred, grainy photo of a reproduction of the Wound Man. He read further, now entirely lost to the outside world, not even hearing Chiyoh when she tried to get his attention. The first murder had occurred in Lithuania. The second had been in Italy, the body stuffed with roses rather than poisonous flowers, and his heart removed. Removed, but not taken away. Hannibal could feel his own heart thumping in his chest as he put the two together.

_Come and find me,_ it seemed to say. His birth place, followed by a journey to Italy as though pointing the way. The overly romantic connotations of the roses and the heart. This was not just a message for him, it was a message from a very specific someone who only knew of one way to get in touch with him.

He looked up slowly as his mind processed this information. It was impossible, but a great many things were impossible, and yet they still happened.

“He is alive,” he said, a smile slowly growing across his face. Chiyoh's face before him grew pale, not frightened exactly, but something more than just worried.

“Hannibal,” she began, her tone clearly indicating her intent to argue. Hannibal was not in the mood.

“He is alive,” he repeated. “They must have done a good job faking his death for it to fool you, but he is alive.”

Chiyoh drew back, her whole body tense.

“Where?” she asked quietly, her eyes darting about the room.

“In Italy. I have no doubt that I will be able to find him in Palermo. He wouldn't risk Florence, but Palermo...” he trailed off, already lost in his memory palace, reconstructing his image of Will within the Chapel. It thrilled him, to know that Will was trying to track him down, that he hadn't given up. He refocussed his gaze on Chiyoh, who still looked dubious to say the least. She didn't have to believe him now; she didn't know Will as well as he did, after all. But she would see. There was nothing, in this world or the next, that could keep him away from Will Graham now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this is the second to last chapter of this part, after which will come the final installment :)


	9. Chapter 9

“I don't know why you insist that he is waiting for you here,” snapped Chiyoh, her customary calm unflappability not just tested, but discarded entirely. There was something to that, Hannibal knew, but it was something he had no interest in pursuing until he had Will with him.

They had taken the first available flight to Italy that he could get. It was a long journey, cramped and dangerously exposed, but finding Will was a compulsion that he was powerless to resist. Chiyoh's protests had all fallen on deaf ears, and he had threatened to leave her behind after one particularly heated argument on the way to the airport. She had stopped actively trying to prevent him from leaving after that, but had continued making barbed comments.

“If you knew Will Graham the way I do, you would understand,” he said mildly as they walked towards their hotel rooms. “As you do not, you cannot.”

She remained silent, but he could feel the frustration boiling off her. Given the late notice they were unable to get adjoining rooms, and Chiyoh found her room near the top of the stairs. His own was down the end of the hallway, and they parted ways with barely a nod in each others direction. Hannibal was unconcerned. Chiyoh would come around, once she realised he was right.

Safely shut away in his own room, he dropped his bag, rubbing his hand over his face. It had been a taxing journey here. It had started that night on the cliff and had taken months of recovery and work to end up here. Here, where things were so tantalisingly close and yet still so far out of reach. Will was in this city; he could feel it. He could almost taste the way the air molecules vibrated in response to his presence. It was a fanciful way to be imagining Will's presence, he knew, but he was incapable of stopping himself. Will had insinuated himself so utterly under his skin that Hannibal found himself not just tolerating these new found flights of fancy, but actively _enjoying_ them. He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing his shoes then lay back, allowing his eyes to close and his mind to wander.

He wondered what it would be like, when he and Will saw each other again. He wondered if it would be like when they met at the Uffizi Gallery, all quiet smiles and soaring hearts, or if it would be different this time. He imagined them meeting beneath some great work of art or piece of architecture. He imagined sweeping Will into his arms, claiming him with the kiss he wished they'd shared on the cliff top. He imagined them spending days recounting their stories, confessing their love with their words and with their bodies, before moving on to become their true selves, hunting together. The page in his mind turned to a new story, a reunion with shy glances and briefly touching fingertips, home cooked meals in an isolated cottage far away from anything that could distract them from one another. Another page turn and they were discovered, gunned down in a hail of bullets while never letting go of each other, dying in an unending embrace as their blood mingled until it would be impossible to tell who the pool beneath them belonged to. On and on the book in his mind went, story after story, each as likely as the last. Whether they lived, killed or died was irrelevant to Hannibal, as long as it was done by Will's side.

He could feel himself drifting off to sleep, the months of stress and worry compounded by the hurried travel here all combining to take their toll on him. He forced himself to sit upright, unwilling to sleep in his travel worn clothes. He showered, a brisk, efficient cleansing, then slid under the blankets of the bed. He slept, and dreamt of Will.

/--/

A good night's sleep had done wonders for both Hannibal and Chiyoh's dispositions, and they had breakfast together in a much more relaxed manner than they had for some days. Though he kept it hidden, the excitement within Hannibal buzzed with a low hum, and it took all he had to refrain from rushing out and searching the city street by street. Palermo may not be as much a risk to him as Florence, but it would not do to tempt Fate. She always had been a fickle mistress. She had proven that when she threw Will into the path of his neat and ordered life, only to rip him away again. Still, Hannibal couldn't suppress the smile that arose when he thought of the way she was finally rewarding him for his patience.

“What is your plan for today?” asked Chiyoh around sips of coffee. She looked well rested. Still tense, but rested.

“Fate,” he began, swallowing the last of his bacon, “has seen fit to draw us all here. I think it best to let Fate decide our meeting place.”

“You have no plan, then,” Chiyoh responded flatly. To say she looked unimpressed would be a vast understatement.

“We will find him, of that I have no doubt.”

“You are looking for a dead man in a city that would like nothing more than to see you hang. My job is to protect you, and yet you insist on making that an impossible task.”

“I would prefer you to be my friend, rather than my protector.”

Chiyoh looked floored at the statement. Hannibal smiled to himself. It was entirely true, though he supposed he could understand why that particular thought may not have ever occurred to her.

“Even still,” she said, taking another sip of coffee.

_Even still,_ Hannibal thought in echo. He wrapped his fingers around his own coffee cup, eyebrows raising in appreciation of the good quality. It was the small things like that he had missed while locked away. Those, and a certain person he would be meeting again very shortly. He had no doubt of that.

“Is there anywhere you would like to see?” he asked, changing the subject in the face of Chiyoh's minor discomfort. He watched as she thought, before finally answering.

“Just the city. I would like to see it as just another visitor.”

_And not as an assassin_ was the unspoken end to the sentence, but Hannibal heard it anyway. He could understand her craving to be a normal person, especially when he considered her history. He smiled.

“Then we will walk, and anything that catches your interest we will stop to look at.”

Chiyoh smiled back, but Hannibal did not miss the still uneasy set of her eyes.

/--/

Their early breakfast meant they spent a good few hours aimlessly meandering around the city, looking at buildings, fountains, anything that caught Chiyoh's eye. Hannibal was happy to follow in her wake, basking in the freedom that being here provided.

“I need water,” Chiyoh announced suddenly. Her forehead had a faint beading of sweat in the afternoon sun, and Hannibal felt the first pangs of hunger.

“It is past lunch time,” he said, looking around for somewhere appealing to eat. “Would you prefer to sit at a restaurant, or would you like something light?”

“Something light, I think,” she responded. Hannibal agreed and led the way in to a nearby café. It was a small place, though clean and cool, the cases currently being restocked with fresh food. The scents emanating from the kitchen made his stomach rumble, a hunger he hadn't paid any attention to while they were walking now making its presence felt.

He ordered food for both himself and Chiyoh, thanking the woman behind the counter when she said she would bring it out to them if they would like to take a seat. It was as he smiled that another smell, one so familiar, so addictive and missed, suddenly overpowered all the others. His fingers twitched and he turned, eager but not willing to believe it to be real, for surely, even with all his belief in fate, he would not find Will Graham in a tiny little café they had only walked into on a whim, would he?

His eyes searched the faces of the few people seated in the building and then as if out of nowhere there he was.

Will.

His Will, seated as though waiting just for him, a coffee cup in hand. Vaguely he was aware of Chiyoh asking him something, though she grew silent so she must have seen what Hannibal saw. Will's cup dropped to the floor, shards of coffee cup flying and landing in the pool of hot, dark liquid at his feet. Hannibal wanted to drop to his knees before him, wanted to offer his body, his mind, his soul, anything that Will would demand of him if only he would promise to never leave his side again.

“Will...” he whispered. Awe overwhelmed him, and as always with Will, Hannibal found himself unable to act the way he always had. Slowly, so slowly, Will walked towards him. It was almost dreamlike, the way Will drifted slowly closer while Hannibal could do nothing but watch. He was there before him. He was _real_. Their eyes were locked together, and when Will's fingers lifted and trailed across his cheek and jaw it was like he had been electrocuted. He had never been touched so intimately as this, with so much reverence.

“Will,” he whispered again, as Will's face grew pale, so pale that Hannibal felt he had to reach out to catch him. And catch him he did, as Will's eyes rolled back and he slumped forwards.

“Chiyoh!” he barked as the world restored its usual bustle and noise. The woman behind the counter gasped and immediately asked if she should call an ambulance. Hannibal declined, scooping Will up in his arms as he had done three years ago. He carefully carried him out of the door behind Chiyoh, who hurried ahead, her body taunt and ready to snap.

“What happened to him?” she asked. Hannibal found it difficult to read her tone, though he couldn't tell if that was because of a deliberate effort on her part or because he was focussed on Will.

“He looks as though he has been pushing himself too hard,” he said, glancing down at Will's face with no small amount of affection. “He never did take proper care of himself.”

They hurried through the streets, ignoring the curious stares that followed in their wake. It didn't take long to reach the hotel and they quickly made their way to Hannibal's room where he lay Will gently on the bed.

“Will he be okay?” Chiyoh asked once Hannibal had him settled, a cursory exam telling him it was nothing that needed to be immediately worried about.

“He will.”

He stretched himself out on the bed beside Will, unable to take his eyes away from the sleeping man.

“I knew it was him,” said Hannibal. “I knew we couldn't be parted.”

He knew Chiyoh was surprised by his openness, but he did not care. How could he, when everything he had ever wanted was finally beside him?

“I knew he was alive.”

Hannibal froze. The quiet, calm words from Chiyoh didn't seem real. He finally tore his eyes away from Will to look at Chiyoh. She was looking at the ground, her posture drawn in and defensive.

“You knew...and you lied to me?” Hannibal replied, his voice strangely controlled and quiet. He wanted to tear her throat out.

“It was for your own good,” she said, looking up to meet him face on. Her face was hard, her eyes steel. Rage within Hannibal threatened to boil over and he stood, careful not to disturb Will. He strode towards the door, Chiyoh stepping out of the bedroom ahead of him. He closed the door behind them then rounded on Chiyoh.

“Why?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“He was living in a house provided and visited by Alana Bloom. He had been harboured by Jack Crawford. It was too dangerous for you to go there.”

“And that is a choice for me alone to make. You have overstepped your bounds, Chiyoh,” he growled, the warning clear in his voice. Chiyoh flinched back, but otherwise stood her ground.

“It was for your own good,” she repeated, almost as though trying to convince herself as much as Hannibal.

“ _I_ am the sole arbiter of what is for my own good. Did it give you pleasure, to see me brought down like that?”

“No!” she exclaimed, pain crossing her features. “You would have walked directly into a trap of Jack Crawford's making, and nothing I could do then would prevent the inevitable outcome.”

Behind them the door opened and both of their heads turned towards the sound. Will stood in the doorway, still pale, still shaky looking, but so unbelievably, gloriously _alive_. The urge to be closer to him was irresistible, and so he did not fight it. They walked towards each other, the drive to be nearer too much for either man to overcome. They were so close now, so close that Hannibal could feel the heat from Will's body. He took his time, revelling in the sight before him.

“Hannibal -” began Chiyoh, interrupting his visual worship of Will and the rage threatened to boil over once more.

“Get out,” he ground out, summoning all of his will power to keep from throttling her. “Get out of my sight.”

He couldn't look at her, knowing that if he did he would lose the last remnants of his tattered self control. Instead he watched Will watching her as she gathered the few things she had in there, then left the room. Will looked at him then, the question in his eyes obvious. He wanted nothing more than to keep Will with him, but he nodded, a weary resignation taking the place of his quickly draining anger. He didn't move, didn't watch Will as he left the room. He stood still, waiting in silence for Will to return.

It did not take long.

Hannibal turned to face Will, still yearning to hold him.

“She was trying to protect you,” Will said, surprising Hannibal slightly with the suddenness of it.

“I know,” he replied, all desire to argue or deflect gone. He would take whatever Will had to say, and he would take it gladly.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait until I calm down. Chiyoh has been good to me; I would hate to do something I may end up regretting.”

It was true. He had learned a lot in his dealings with Will, not least of which was the fact that he had been right, all those years ago in Baltimore: he _had_ changed Hannibal. For better or for worse, Hannibal was a different man to the one who had existed before the appearance of Will Graham. He could stop the coil of pleasure that unwound in his stomach when Will smiled in approval at his words, just another example of the ways in which he was different.

“Hi,” whispered Will, and the quiet happiness in his voice threatened to bring Hannibal to his knees.

“Hello, Will,” he replied, scarcely able to believe that he was able to say those words once more, and like _this._ Without games, without masks, just two men who saw each other, and liked what they saw.

“You look like hell.”

Will's smile, his soft voice pierced Hannibal to the core.

“I was shot, thrown off a cliff, and told that my beloved was dead. It takes its toll,” he said, and _oh_ did it feel good to say that out loud, to have Will hear it unclouded by metaphor or innuendo. To know that he could say it, and have Will accept it for what it was.

“ _God_ , I've missed you,” said Will and Hannibal couldn't resist any more. He walked forward slowly, watching with eager anticipation as Will did the same until they were standing before each other, face to face, eye to eye. Hannibal lifted his hand to hover over the scar on Will's face, though he did not touch. He wanted to take Will now, in any way that Will would have him, but he also wanted to stretch this out into a moment he would _never_ be able to forget.

“I had thought I would never see you again. And then I got your note, and I came for you, and you were here.”

He spoke with all the wonder he felt. He wasn't sure if he could ever adequately convey the joy and disbelief he felt that this had happened, that somehow he had been granted this fairy tale of a story, but he tried.

“I only stepped into that café by chance,” said Will. Hannibal didn't think he could maintain this much longer, the yearning he felt for Will so very obviously reciprocated.

“As did I. Fate, it would seem, was determined for us to reunite on this day.”

His will power crumbled then and he dragged his fingertips across the surface of Will's skin, so lightly and so gently but it contained all the power of his existence. Will's expression melted into one of bliss and he grabbed at Hannibal's shirt, pulling them together into their longed for embrace. Hannibal rested his head atop Will's as he had on the cliff, his hands snaking around to run along Will's back. He could waste away and die here, and remain happy while doing so.

“Don't let me go,” Will whispered, his lips grazing the skin of Hannibal's neck. “Don't ever leave me again.”

Hannibal held Will tighter in response, savouring the feel and the smell of him.

“I won't,” Hannibal promised

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this part is all done! I'm going to take a break for a few weeks because I'm heading over to London for BtRD, but once I'm back the third part will be written and posted. That part will continue on from here, and be from both of their POVs. Thank you so much for sticking with this so far!! ♥♥


End file.
